


Sometimes Sentimental

by benjaminrussell



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benjaminrussell/pseuds/benjaminrussell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Doctor and Tegan go out on their latest adventure, Turlough's left behind on the TARDIS, in bed suffering from flu. What happens when he finds he's not as alone as he'd thought?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Sentimental

Turlough groaned and rolled over, tangling himself further in the sheets. He’d been confined to bed for several days now, having being struck ill on their last trip to Earth. Being human, Tegan was partially immune and had only ended up with a slight cold, and the Doctor was fine as always, leaving Turlough to be the only one suffering, something which Tegan kept teasing him about, repeatedly going on about man flu, and how he was being pathetic. He finally managed to extract himself from his covers and threw them on the floor in annoyance, just as the Doctor entered the room.

“There’s no need to take it out on the bed sheets,” He remarked lightly, looking down at his companion sympathetically.

“I did say we shouldn’t have gone in the first place,” Turlough complained hoarsely, pulling himself up into a sitting position as he spoke. The Time Lord crossed the room to his side and pressed the back of his hand against the younger man’s forehead, before reassuring, “You’ll be up and about again in the next day or two, I’m sure.” Before Turlough had the chance to complain some more, he added, “Anyway, I came to tell you that Tegan and I are going outside to investigate, but we shan’t be too long. Is there anything you need before we leave?” At a shake of his head, The Doctor smiled and turned to leave, his parting words being, “Try and get some sleep; it’ll do you good.” The Trion grunted and laid back down, leaving the sheets were they’d landed.

Later, after a period of fitful sleep, he was woken abruptly. Opening his eyes, he inspected his surroundings, all the time listening carefully for sounds of the other two returning. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Turlough forced himself up out of bed and cautiously made his way to the bedroom door, which he opened slowly and silently. Once out, he shut it behind him and headed towards the console room, treading as softly as he could, listening to the feeling in his gut that something was wrong. Freezing when he heard faint noises from up ahead, he reluctantly made the decision to investigate. The others were off exploring, so he couldn’t leave it to them, and if there was something on board with him, he would rather know who or what it was. He crept closer to the door that separated the console room from the living quarters, the sounds becoming clearer as he approached, eventually turning into slightly awkward sounding speech. He presumed it was some animalistic language that that TARDIS matrix was having some difficulty translating into normal dialogue.

“Does the transport go?” A deep voice asked, filling Turlough with dread. He had to stop them before they figured out how to make the TARDIS dematerialise, as even if he did succeed in beating the threat, he didn’t know where they’d landed, or what the co-ordinates were, and so wouldn’t be able to get back to the Doctor.

“Not yet. It has complex controls,” A second voice replied, as he inched forwards to support himself on the doorframe. Another pause, and then he held his breath and pulled the door towards him, praying that the things wouldn’t notice; that it wouldn’t make a noise and attract their attention. He seemed to be lucky though, so he peeped through the tiny gap to see just what exactly had made its way onboard.

In the console room, two creatures were stood by the control panel, one of them pressing switches and pulling levers with all four of its hands, while the other just watched and waited. They reminded Turlough of an Earth animal that he’d seen a picture of while at Brendon School. A warthog he thought, recalling the name, although he knew that no warthog ever walked upright or had four arms with two fingers and two opposable thumbs on each hand. He silently closed the door again, leaning back against the wall as he tried to think of a plan.

“If only The Doctor were here,” He moaned under his breath, accidentally provoking a coughing fit. His eyes widened as he fought to get his body under control, knowing the invaders had to have heard it. Indeed they had, and the one that had spoken first growled, “I will investigate. You work still.” Turlough backed away quickly, and forsaking some stealth for speed, hurried away to find somewhere to hide. He yanked open a door some way down the hallway and darted inside, leaving the door open a crack so he tell if his hunter passed by. Inspecting his surroundings for a potential weapon, he chanced upon a cricket bat lying on a low table, so he swiftly picked it up and held it tightly.

It was a few minutes before it reached Turlough’s hiding place, presumably having searched the other rooms nearer the console room first. He waited behind the door with baited breath, heart beating wildly, still hoping that it would give up before it found him. That wasn’t to be though, as the door swung open and the creature entered, watching intently the mannequin on the opposite wall that was wearing nothing but a long striped scarf. Taking advantage of its distraction, he stepped out from his hiding place and swung the bat as hard as he could, muttering, “Sorry Doctor,” to hit the base of its skull with a dull thud. After what seemed like an age, but in reality was only a second or two, it staggered forwards a few steps and slumped to the ground. It thankfully didn’t move again. Turlough breathed a sigh of relief, and then leant his weight on the bat to steady himself as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Once it had passed, he straightened and then used the mannequin’s scarf to tie the alien’s hands tightly behind its back as an extra precaution. Stepping back to inspect his handiwork, he was suddenly worried again. The other one wouldn’t be as easy to take down, as he had no way of taking it by surprise, and in his current state, Turlough was in no way up for a fight. A flash of inspiration came to him as he picked the cricket bat up again, and so he hurried as fast as he could to what used to be Nyssa’s room, hoping that there were still some of her chemicals left in there.

Test tube of acid in one hand and the cricket bat in the other, Turlough crept back towards the console room, relieved slightly when he saw that the second creature had its back to the doorway. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he moved closer, cursing when it turned around and looked directly at him. He brought the test tube up level with his shoulder, took aim, and threw before it had a chance to move out of the way. It let out a high pitched squeal as the acid burnt the side of its face and charged at Turlough, missing him by inches as he dived to the floor and rolled away. Not giving him any chance to get to his feet, it skidded to a halt and changed direction, bearing down on where he was shuffling backwards. He attempted to use the wall to pull himself up, but the invader grabbed him with two hands and flung him across the room into the TARDIS doors. He groaned in pain as he fell to the floor again, wanting nothing more than to just lie there until the Doctor and Tegan returned, but he knew he had to get up if he wanted to live. He yanked himself up, swaying on his feet as he stumbled towards the controls, gaze fixed on one lever in particular. Lunging for it before his enemy could stop him; he tugged the lever, causing the main doors to swing open. He backed out of the TARDIS, hoping with all his might that it was too enraged to think straight and would charge after him. Thanks to the acid burn eating away at its face, this was in fact what it did, barrelling out of the doors fast enough for Turlough to step aside to let it pass and then quickly re-enter the police box, slamming the doors shut behind him. The console room finally freed, he leant back against them, head spinning, and tried to catch his breath. He surveyed the damage as he waited for his pulse to calm, and sighed. He’d need to find something to collect the shards of broken glass in, and some gloves to protect his hands from the acid that was surely left.

The cleanup finished, Turlough sank to the floor, completely worn out. His shoulder was throbbing where he’d hit the doors, and he had a pounding headache that seemed to be pulsing in time with it. He shut his eyes wearily and sagged back against the wall behind him. Looking a wreck, this was how his friends found him when they returned, in high spirits from a successful trip, although these were quickly dampened.

“Turlough!” Tegan cried out, while The Doctor hurried over to crouch down next to him, concern etched deep into his features. Turlough’s eyes flickered open and he slowly looked up to meet The Doctor’s stare, prompting the question, “Are you alright?”

“I’m sick and beaten and I’ve just had to save the TARDIS from being stolen by space faring warthogs. What do you think?” He grumbled, but his complaining seemed to reassure the Doctor, who stood back up and held out a hand to help him up. It was Tegan that exclaimed, “How did they get in?!”

“We mustn’t have closed the doors properly,” The Doctor replied, apparently unconcerned, “I would like to know what happened while they were here though, but it can wait until you’re back in bed, Turlough.” He slipped his arm around the Trion’s shoulders to steady him, and began steering him back to his room.

“Oh, and there’s one left unconscious and tied up in that storage room.”


End file.
